


A Practical  Application of Low Thaumaturgy on Fabrics

by Megkips



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Gen, mundane uses of epic magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megkips/pseuds/Megkips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rider’s right, of course, and there’s no way Waver’s going to win this fight.  So he doesn’t fight it at all.  Instead, he looks across the table and says, “Fine, we’ll get you some trousers,” with world weariness that no nineteen year old should have.  “Let me finish my coffee.  Then we can do the dishes and head to the mall.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Practical  Application of Low Thaumaturgy on Fabrics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).



It is nine o’clock in the morning. Waver knows this because the digital clock on his bedside table cheerfully informs him of the fact in neat red numbers, and because Rider has loudly announced the time in Waver’s ear, adding, “Get up! No wars are won by lying about in bed.”

“Everyone else is still asleep,” Waver mutters, desperately rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to force himself awake. “Grail Wars are nocturnal by nature—”

“Exactly!” Rider says, leaving Waver to wonder if there were earthquake support beams that would allow the Mackenzie house to withstand Rider’s sheer volume. “While all of the other combatants rest, we shall prepare, and thus have the advantage.”

Some small part of Waver’s brain registers that Rider has a point. Likely, that same portion wills Waver out of bed, down the worryingly creaky steps (that all but beg for mercy as Rider descends them) and into the kitchen which — for once — is empty. Instead, two large coffee mugs rest beside a thermos and a note from the Mackenzies, probably explaining their whereabouts. Waver takes care to pour himself coffee first before glancing down at the piece of paper. 

“Having any—?” he asks, absently holding the thermos out towards Rider.

“Too bitter,” Rider replies gently pushing the thermos down onto the table. Waver counts Rider’s distaste for coffee a blessing; he imagines that his servant after a cup of caffeine is the sort of thing that could actually lose him this war.

“Suit yourself.” Waver skims the note — apparently the Mackenzies are visiting friends out of Fuyuki today — as he gulps down the coffee, paying no attention to its heat or taste. It isn’t until the mug is drained that he registers that there’s a thick black sludge in the bottom of the mug and that he’s already tasted a fair amount of grinds. He cringes at the bitterness, then sets the mug aside. There’s a miracle in feeling the fog of sleep lift, and Waver notes that maybe he should find out if there are compounds in coffee that can be used in magecraft after the war finishes.

“You were busy with your familiars last night,” Rider finally says, and somehow Waver missed that his servant got up and made up a fine-looking plate of toast in the time it has taken to consume a single cup of coffee. “What news do they have?”

Waver reaches for the thermos, refilling his coffee cup. “There’s been a rule change,” he says, threading his fingers through the steam and manipulating the moisture into abstract patterns.

“Oh?” Rider asks in a way that really isn’t a question, but more so a pleased grumble of approval at an unexpected turn in the war. “Under whose authority?”

“The Church.”

“And the new rule is—?”

“Everyone is to hunt and defeat Caster,” Waver informs him. “Apparently there was an attempt last night that didn’t work, and Caster fled.” He places the thermos back down onto the kitchen table with a gentle thud.

“Do you have the details of it or—?”

“No,” Waver admits, finally raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip. It means he doesn’t have to look Rider in the eyes now that he’s said he failed at something. “The Einzbern’s bounded field is too powerful; my familiars weren’t capable of breaking through and observing. I suppose Saber was involved, but that’s about it.”

“That’s something then,” Rider says, taking a large bite out of his toast and chewing loudly. He continues after swallowing and flicking a few stray crumbs from his beard. “Caster went to Saber looking for a fight, did he not? And if I am correct in my estimation, he was driven away?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts, boy,” Rider declares with his usual good cheer. “This means he is in retreat and will not be looking for another fight any time soon. He’ll have gone back to where he makes his camp. If we can find where he and his master reside, we can closely monitor them and plan to attack at our leisure.”

“I had a thought about that last night, actually.” 

“Mm?”

Waver nods, if only to confirm the plan in his own mind. “Up in my room there’s a bag with a map and test tubes. On the map are divided sections of the Mion River, marked by the alphabet. The test tubes are marked the same. I need you to fill up the test tubes with water from the appropriately marked area, then bring them back. I can take it from there.”

“I can carry the bag only if I have physical form,” Rider says. Waver nearly grins that his servant is considering his strategy, even if his plans are not entirely obvious. “But—”

It’s the kind of but that has a bargain attached to it - unwanted on Waver’s end and deeply desired on Rider’s. With a resigned gesture, Waver lets Rider continue.

“It’s probably better that I have something less attention grabbing than my current clothing,” Rider continues, motioning to himself. “Shorts aren't very appropriate for the current weather.”

“It really doesn’t make a difference if you’re wearing shorts or trousers,” Waver counters. “You draw attention to yourself by sheer size.” And simple presence, if Waver is being honest.

“That may be true,” Rider agrees, “But with the purchase of trousers, it would be one less thing that people would find incongruous about me and last I checked, subtlety was one of your goals in information gathering.”

Rider’s right, of course, and there’s no way Waver’s going to win this fight. So he doesn’t fight it at all. Instead, he looks across the table and says, “Fine, we’ll get you some trousers,” with world weariness that no nineteen year old should have. “Let me finish my coffee. Then we can do the dishes and head to the mall.”

Dishes end up being an ordeal unto themselves with Rider drying and noting that Waver has not done a very good job of cleaning the coffee sludge from the mug and that soggy crumbs have moved from the supposedly washed plate onto the Mackenzie’s bright floral dish towel. Waver retorts that Rider is quite welcome to wash the plates himself if he has such a problem with their cleanliness and dry them off too so that Waver can go find his wallet. It ends with Waver standing miserably next to Rider with a second towel — this one covered with cartoonish ladybugs — drying what Rider calls properly cleaned dishware. Waver vaguely wonders why Alexander the Great knows anything about dish washing to begin with, and then files it away as one of the many things about Rider that are not worth over thinking.

***

“Too small,” Rider says in a low rumble, inspecting another tag on a pair of black slacks that are many centimeters away from fitting. Waver responds with a tired groan and looks about for a clock to confirm just how long he has been confined to this particular circle of Hell. 

“I don’t think there are going to be any that fit you then,” Waver says as Rider moves on to a display table full of olive green slacks that don’t look exactly dissimilar to Waver’s. “And we’re wasting valuable time that we could be using to find Caster.”

“Only a fool goes into battle ill-prepared,” Rider corrects. “As it is, I lack sufficient camouflage.” He pauses, picking up a pair of the neatly folded pants that rest on the table. “Do you think ninety-six centimeters would be sufficient?”

“Just try them on,” Waver grumbles. “There’s a dressing room on your left, down past the belts.”

“I see it,” Rider says before walking towards the rooms, leaving Waver to wonder if information about dressing rooms is one of the things that servants learn upon their summons and how badly is this going to go if that isn’t the case. He can see it now: some terrible local news story about the foreigner who managed to offend an entire department store because he didn’t know proper dressing room etiquette. 

Come to think of it, Rider probably won’t be hidden by the stalls very well, given his height. Waver huffs unhappily at that particular thought, only for his body to tense without his permission. The threads of thaumaturgy in the air are thicker than they should be, which means only one thing. With as much grace as possible, Waver climbs into the center of a circular track of clothing and waits for the source to pass by. It’s not the best hiding spot, but spending prana on an invisibility spell would only draw attention to himself, and the black jumpers provide good enough cover as far as Waver’s concerned.

He is halfway through pondering which servant or master would be wasting time in a shopping mall when Saber and her master pass by, Saber’s master all but dragging her servant along by the hand, red eyes sparkling. Saber is carrying a staggering amount of bags and boxes, which is impressive for someone who has a severed tendon.

“Irisviel, are you certain that this is an acceptable thing to be doing given the events of last night?” Saber is saying as the two pass by Waver’s hiding place. “We should be tracking Caster, not—”

“There are other people to hunt down Caster,” Irisviel replies. “Besides, we can—”

Their conversation trails after them, and Waver strains his ears as it fades out. Nothing. He lets out a disappointed mumble as he pushes aside the jumpers, climbing out from the rack. It takes all of five steps for him to walk smack into Rider’s chest. That he doesn’t bounce off it and land flat on the floor is a feat.

“Oof!”

Rider looks down at Waver and doesn’t quite laugh, but he does cast a confused glance from Waver to the jumpers, then back again. “What were you doing in there?”

“Watching,” Waver replies. “Saber and her master just wandered by, talking about what to do about Caster. We should go after them and get more information—”

A low rumble of consideration follows, followed by Rider shaking his head in disapproval. “Boy, our priority right now is to find trousers, not to fight against Saber. Even if it was, doing so here and now would not be wise.”

“Fine. What’s the news on the trouser front?” Waver asks eyes darting back towards the direction Irisviel and Saber headed in. They couldn’t have missed the presence of another master and servant team here. 

“Nothing fits, not even the blue jeans that one of the shop attendants suggested after I asked for assistance,” Rider replies, and he sounds more disappointed about this than Waver’s war strategy. “She offered to order a larger size for me that would definitely fit, but it would take a week to come in.”

“I see,” Waver says. “I guess that’s that for trousers.” 

His servant replies with something agreeable and begins to head out of menswear. It’s strange, seeing Rider slouch ever-so-slightly, hurt by the simple inability to purchase modern clothing. Waver trails behind him, considering other solutions to the problem and — Oh. Why didn’t he think of that sooner? 

“Rider?”

“Yes?”

“Buy two pairs of trousers whose width add up to one hundred thirty-seven centimeters and I’ll take it from there.”

The look on Rider’s face can only be called curious. Well, maybe curiosity mixed with amusement, but his eyes glisten in anticipation all the same, waiting for Waver to state the obvious solution to the problem. When no explanation comes, Rider goes to fetch the right trousers, leaving Waver to calculate the precise transmutation required. It’s nothing complicated — certainly nothing that Waver hasn’t done before. There’s simply more fabric involved this time.

***

Once back at the Mackenzies’, Waver insists that they head right upstairs and take care of the trousers before worrying about lunch. Rider agrees that pants should definitely come before food, and soon he is sitting on Waver’s bed watching the boy, well, do something with chalk. Spellcraft of some sort. Waver, for his part, bites his tongue and forces himself to concentrate on the task at hand, channeling his prana from his circuits, through the chalk and into the lines of the transmutation circle. There’s less to draw on than usual — after all, he must maintain Rider’s presence in the world — but this isn’t something that will deplete his energy entirely so long as he has a huge lunch afterwards.

“Okay,” Waver says, once the circle is complete. “Hand me the trousers.”

The denim is stiff in Waver’s outstretched hand, and he takes care to unfold each pair of pants and lay them on top of each other in the center of the circle. He takes as much care as he did with Rider’s relic in their positioning, then activates the transmutation circle with a simple command of, “Merge.”

In an instant, Waver feels every atom of the fabric at his command, refusing to unravel before him. He steels himself against the atoms and wills them apart, feeling the wonderful sensation of the laws of nature being bent because he desires it. Inch by inch, each thread comes undone, and each thread holds Waver’s attention until both pairs of jeans have been broken down entirely. This, Waver thinks, is the easy part, and as he tries to knit the jeans back together into one complete pair of trousers, he feels the toll of tracking millions of tiny threads. Each demands to go back where it was, and Waver grins with the perverse pride of a mage as he forces them into new patterns — into a wider waist and longer seams, into larger pockets and a longer zipper — until the pattern holds, snags back into reality, and a pair of XXXXL blue jeans rest in the center of the transmutation circle where there had once been two separate pairs. To its right is a small pile of surplus metallic rivets, a length of thread and a few scraps of cast aside fabric, neatly folded.

“There,” Waver declares over Rider’s low, impressed whistle. His heart is still racing with the sheer thrill of expending prana, and there’s a reward in that whistle too. “If they don’t fit, then you’re getting a kilt.”

Waver leaves the room before Rider can ask what a kilt is, and after a few moments of silence a pleased laugh sounds from the other side of the door. “Well done, boy!” Rider thunders, and now the entire neighbourhood knows that the Rider team of the Fourth Holy Grail War has defeated the challenge of trousers. “They fit perfectly!”

“Great,” Waver manages flatly, poking his head into his own room. “Now, about those water samples?”

“Yes, those,” Rider replies, opening the door wide for Waver. “The bag was where?”

“There,” Waver says, pointing to the blue duffle bag that sits to the left of the bedroom door. “When you go out, try not to be too conspicuous. Please.” Well, as inconspicuous as a westerner who just so happens to be six foot nine and made of muscle can manage in Japan, he adds mentally.

Rider scoops the bag up with ease and slings it over his shoulder. “Very well, but you must explain this strategy of yours upon my return.”

He leaves without another word, letting Waver linger in the door frame to contemplate what actually just happened. Following a command like this, Waver figures, is a sign of trust — never mind obedience — and that’s something to be proud of. It only cost him two pairs of trousers and some prana.

**Author's Note:**

> Psychomachia requested Waver and Rider fluff - after all, canon is made of nothing but sadness - and I hope that this delivers. Fate/zero is tightly constructed and doesn't allow for a lot of room to add events in, but I realized that there was opportunity when I realized we never see how Rider gets his pants. After all, around episode nine, we first see Rider in his jeans. The last time we saw him was in episode six where he and Waver were still fighting about the conditions for purchasing trousers. 
> 
> Saber and Iri’s apperance is pretty much thanks to [this official art](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lvnw9aoBHX1r167eto1_500.jpg)
> 
> The Type Moon wiki states that Rider is 212 cm, or 6 feet and 9 inches tall at 130 kg or 286 pounds. Sizing charts indicate that his pants size would be a XXXL (more likely an XXXXL) with a waist of aroud 52-54 inches or 137 cm. I relied on [this](http://www.buckmans.com/Uploads/Size_Charts_12/Arctic_Sizing_Chart_Mens.jpg%20) sizing chart to figure all of this out.


End file.
